Once you see it, you cannot unsee it; once you really read it, you realize it is reading you; once you have wrestled with it for a blessing, you cannot walk away the same. Hebrews 13:17 is a text for both pastors and their people: “Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account.”

The verse speaks about the office of pastor but is written to the whole church. Its truth instructs as well as sobers our souls. As for this passage, stammers John Chrysostom, “though I have mentioned it once already, yet I will break silence about it now, for the fear of its warning is continually agitating my soul” (Treatise Concerning the Christian Priesthood, 6.1). All need to ride along for this single-verse foretaste of the final judgment, where pastors and their people, shepherds and sheep, stand together before the awesome throne of the chief Shepherd.

I hope God will stamp this verse upon our souls and that our communities will never be the same. This verse has had a deep effect on many men of God before us, and boasts a cloud of pastoral witnesses who would counsel us as we pass. I hope to allow a few to speak. Consider, then, Hebrews 13:17 in three parts: (1) the pastor’s business, (2) the pastor’s report, and (3) the response of the church.

The Pastor’s Business

Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls . . .

Pastors can lack fruit because pastors can lack clarity. With so many needs and so many differing opportunities for good, pastors can be pulled in as many different directions as he has people. To this, Hebrews 13:17 purifies the pastoral office: his business is to care for souls, to watch over them. As doctors deal with the health of the body, pastors deal with the health of the soul. Summarizes John Owen,

The work and design of these rulers is solely to take care of your souls — by all means to preserve them from evil, sin, backsliding; to instruct and feed them; to promote their faith and obedience; that they may be led safely to eternal rest. For this end is their office appointed, and herein do they labor continually. (An Exposition of the Epistle to the Hebrews, 4:454)

Pastors keep their eyes on souls and seek to lead them safely to eternal rest — an ambition “without which [pastor] is an empty name.” To see how this charge focuses the work, consider more carefully the words souls and keeping watch.

Souls. The soul is that part of a man, woman, child that shall live forever, somewhere. Do you appreciate the value of your soul — that which Jesus tells you not to barter for the world and all its pleasures (Matthew 16:26)? Pastors, do you appreciate the awful greatness of your stewardship? Lemuel Haynes puts it bluntly: “The man who does not appreciate the worth of souls and is not greatly affected with their dangerous situation is not qualified for the sacred office” (Collected Writings of Lemuel Haynes, 183).

“As doctors deal with the health of the body, pastors deal with the health of the soul.”

Notice, we are discussing the work of a pastor, not just a preacher. Keeping watch over souls entails receiving information, not just giving it. When many think of pastoring, they think about standing up front, mic turned on, Bible open. But how many want the long hours with souls — asking and listening, speaking and repeating, praying and encouraging and correcting, house after house, family after family?

How does a pastor fulfill this charge? Practically, soul-watching includes at least three activities: knowing, feeding, and warning.

1. Knowing

The pastor deals not only with the differing spiritual conditions of his own soul and the souls of his family, but with dozens more simultaneously. How variable their conditions, how varying the remedies. See them there: Some are drawing swords against Apollyon; others pant, climbing Hill Difficulty; still others submerge neck-deep in the Slough of Despond. A few feast within Palace Beautiful, but more window-shop at Vanity Fair or receive bruises from Giant Despair. Flatterer seduces; Demas beckons; Lord Hate-Good is still hating good. What few aids to the Celestial City, and what towering opposition. How needful are pastors?

The pastoral plurality must regularly acquaint themselves with each member’s state. Paul commands, “Pay careful attention to . . . all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers” (Acts 20:28). To “all the flock,” not “favorite sheep”; “careful attention,” not “occasional glances.”

How? By being with them. Inquire into their love for Christ, their time in the word and prayer, their fellowship in the church, the presence of family worship in their homes. Eat meals together, pray together, sing together, and open the word together. Develop care records and organize your prayer life so that none fall through the cracks. Make time to counsel, and be intentional to press past life updates to see how is it with their souls. Are they beginning to doubt, walking in sin, growing in grace? Are they still traveling safely toward Immanuel’s land?

2. Feeding

We know them, and then we feed them. With what? These leaders have already been described as “those who spoke to you the word of God” (Hebrews 13:7). These men spoke, “Thus says the Lord” and “Behold your God!”

Oh, to have his word! Not just to preach it (though we love that too) but to sit with sinners, sufferers, and unsatisfied ones — to address the soul’s raw wounds with the balm of the word that reveals our God.

Caesarius of Arles gives us examples:

[The minister applies] heavenly remedies, saying to each sinner: Do not be proud, brother, because it is written: “God resists the proud.” Do not be angry, because we read: “Anger lodges in the bosom of a fool”; and again: “The wrath of man does not work the justice of God.” If they perchance see disobedience, they say kindly and humbly: Do not be disobedient, brother, because it is written . . . “Obey your superiors and be subject to them, for they keep watch as having to render an account of your souls.” . . . If by speaking well he recognizes that he is Christ’s helper and a defender of justice, let him rejoice and give thanks to God, and with his help let him persevere to the end, for not he who has begun, but he who “Perseveres shall be saved.” (Sermons of St. Caesarius of Arles, 2:352–53)

Pastors strive to lend a listening ear and bless with a Scripture-speaking mouth. Apply the heavenly remedies.

3. Warning

“Keeping watch over your souls” is no mere sightseeing assignment. Elders watch from the high tower of the watchman given in Ezekiel.

Son of man, I have made [you] a watchman for the house of Israel. Whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me. If I say to the wicked, O wicked one, you shall surely die, and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from his way, that wicked person shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand. (Ezekiel 33:7–8)

We are not at peace; a holy war rages, and our enemy cannot spell surrender. Lemuel Haynes describes it this way:

When soldiers are called forth, and sentinels stand upon the wall, it denotes war. The souls of men are environed with ten thousand enemies that are seeking their ruin. Earth and hell are combined together to destroy. How many already have fallen victims to their ferocity! The infernal powers are daily dragging their prey to the prison of hell. (Collected Writings, 45)

And so, we must warn — men, women, and children. We cannot be blind watchmen, “silent dogs [who] cannot bark” (Isaiah 56:10). “Pretend not to love them,” corrects Richard Baxter, “if you favor their sins, and seek not their salvation. . . . If you be their best friends, help them against their worst enemies” (The Reformed Pastor, 100).

As ministers, we know, feed, and warn against the soul’s enemies for the Christian’s eternal good and Christ’s honor.

The Pastor’s Report

Now, the pastor’s report: How did he, with his fellow elders, keep watch over their souls?

It is this part of the text that disquieted John Chrysostom: “Our condition here, indeed, is such as thou hast heard. But our condition hereafter how shall we endure, when we are compelled to give our account for each of those who have been entrusted to us?” (Treatise Concerning the Christian Priesthood, 6.1). Undershepherds are accountable shepherds. And what shall a negligent shepherd say on that great day?

Let’s consider it both negatively and positively. First, imagine the horror of a negligent pastor seeing those under his care led away to judgment. Philip Doddridge paints the chilling scene:

It is a tragic spectacle to behold a criminal dying by human laws, even where the methods of execution are gentle . . . and I doubt not but it would grieve us to the heart to see any who had been under our ministerial care in that deplorable circumstance. But, oh, how much more deeply must it pierce our very souls to see them led forth to that dreadful execution, with those of whom Christ shall say, “As for these Mine enemies, who would not that I should reign over them, bring them forth, and slay them before Me!” Oh, how will it wound us to hear the beginning of those cries and wailings which must never end! How shall we endure the reflection, “These wretches are perishing forever, in part because I would not take any pains to attempt their salvation!” (The Evil and Danger of Neglecting the Souls of Men, 27)

Yet on the other side of that heavy contemplation, see the equally dense delight of seeing them enter glory, as pictured by Haynes:

Ministers will meet the pious part of their congregations with great rejoicing, especially those to whom they had been instrumental in saving good. Such will be the ministers’ own crown of rejoicing in the day of the Lord Jesus. . . . Ministers and their people when they have finished their course will remember those Bethel visits that they have enjoyed in the sanctuary and around the Table of the Lord and the sweet counsel they have taken together. They will remember the seasonable reproofs given to each other, and whatever differences have taken place between them will all be forgiven and forever exterminated. They will see the wisdom and goodness of God in all these things. Thus when the ministers of Christ have finished their course, that will put an end to all their troubles; and so their ministry will end or issue in their unspeakable joy and consolation. (Collected Writings, 189–90)

May we all know such unspeakable joy and consolation with our people on that great Day.

A Word to the Sheep

Finally, how should the church respond? We do not need to search for an application: care for your pastor’s soul. How? Hear the verse in full:

Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account. Let them do this with joy and not with groaning, for that would be of no advantage to you.

The author places the happy obedience of the sheep in the shadow of the great pastoral task on their behalf. John Calvin helps us feel the connection:

His meaning is, that the heavier the burden they bear, the more honor they deserve; for the more labor any one undertakes for our sake, and the more difficulty and danger he incurs for us, the greater are our obligations to him. And such is the office of [pastors], that it involves the greatest labor and the greatest danger; if, then, we wish to be grateful, we can hardly render to them that which is due; and especially, as they are to give an account of us to God, it would be disgraceful for us to make no account of them. (Commentary on Hebrews)

Some need to be reminded to obey your pastors — and how could you not if they be true pastors keeping watch over your soul? Consider how they have your best in mind. Consider what burdens they bear on your behalf, what judgment they venture for your good. Should you make their job heavier than it is by ignoring their teaching, counsel, and correction?

O church, consider how mountainous is their task and how serious their coming judgment, and let the pastors do this work — this eternal work, this trembling work, this hard and sad and sometimes lonely work — with joy, and not with groaning, for that would be of no advantage to them or to you.

I don’t have any tattoos, but if I did, one would picture a man charging a group of soldiers, with this caption: “Set down my name, Sir.” John Bunyan shows us the scene in his classic allegory, The Pilgrim’s Progress (33–34). I hope Bunyan will tattoo the phrase on your mind as well.

Before Christian stood a palace, “a stately palace, beautiful to behold.” Atop this citadel, the inhabitants walked, clad in gold. How did anyone enter that palace? A little distance from the door sat a scribe, ready to write down anyone’s name who would attempt to enter. But Christian saw that none dared to give their name and approach the door. Outside the palace doors, in fact, stood a great company of men who desired to enter but didn’t. Not one of these many men would give their names and advance.

Why not? In the doorway of that palace stood a small army of soldiers, ready to batter and bludgeon any who drew near. These were “resolved to do the men that would enter what hurt and mischief they could.” The palace itself, any sane man would enter; the palace protected by a small army, only a madman would attempt. And then we see it:

At last, when every man started back for fear of the armed men, Christian saw a man of a very stout countenance come up to the man that sat there to write, saying, “Set down my name, Sir.”

Among his shrinking, retreating peers, one man among them seeks glory, honor, and immortality (Romans 2:6–7). He’ll go forth against the foe, come what may. He tells the scribe, “Write down my name, Sir. Sign me up.”

Once his name was recorded, Christian “saw the man draw his sword, and put a helmet upon his head, and rush toward the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him with deadly force: but the man, not at all discouraged, fell to cutting and hacking most fiercely.” Opposed but undiscouraged, he cuts and hacks most fiercely.

After he had received and given many wounds to those that attempted to keep him out, he cut his way through them all, and pressed forward into the palace, at which there was a pleasant voice heard from those that were within, even of those that walked upon the top of the palace, saying —

“Come in, come in;Eternal glory thou shalt win.”

So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as they.

At this episode, Christian simply smiles and asks for no further explanation of the Interpreter; he knows the meaning already.

Unused Weapons

This man of stout countenance captures a Christian’s holy warfare. This is a reprise of Jonathan storming the Philistines with only his armor-bearer, Samson picking up his jawbone against a thousand men, David requesting to fight the blaspheming giant, Paul foretelling that persecution awaits him yet declaring, “none of these things move me” (Acts 20:24 NKJV), and our Lord Jesus, facing an army in the garden of Gethsemane, and, “knowing all that would happen to him, came forward and said to them, ‘Whom do you seek?’” (John 18:4).

“Church Militant, she has been called in ages past; what is her name now?”

In Christian’s smile, we see Bunyan’s — the man who himself wrote this scene from prison for refusing to cease preaching. For many today, Christianity is conceived of solely as a soft affair, a gentle boat ride, a walk through the meadow. We tour ancient strongholds, but do not mount them. Few mistake our discipline, zeal, or witness as having to do with a militant, advancing faith. Few would depict the way to heaven as fighting through a group of soldiers.

Surely, the factors for this are many. Perhaps our swords have turned prematurely into plowshares, our arrows to bonfire sticks, because we have not faced the persecution that sent our forefathers to the front lines. Or perhaps the “muscular Christianity” movement was onto something, and the feminization of our faith has come on the heels (or in the heels) of the Industrial Revolution. Maybe David Wells is right to say we have been blunted by a pluralistic society, leaving behind a democratized faith — polite, not prophetic. Church Militant, she has been called in ages past; what is her name now?

Take Heaven by Force

Yet for all of that, the Christian life is inescapably one of war. He who would set down his name and lay siege to heaven must know he charges upon real enemies who possess real hatred, and take up real weapons. The enemy undertakes to be your undertaker. At baptism, the Christian renounces the devil, and pledges total allegiance to King Jesus. That is, he declares war. You must “cut your way through them all,” giving and receiving many wounds, to enter the real glory. In the words of Thomas Watson,

Heaven is inherited by the violent. Our life is military. Christ is our Captain, the gospel is the banner, the graces are our spiritual artillery, and heaven is only taken in a forcible way. (Heaven Taken by Storm, 3)

Heaven must be fought for. Both men and women must learn the masculine instinct to persevere to heaven. Paul does not simply suggest it; he commands it: “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong” (1 Corinthians 16:13). The whole church — full of men, women, and children — must act like men and be strong.

Be strong in the Lord and the strength of his might, Christian. Resist the devil, and he will flee. Smother temptation in its crib. Whet your sword. Awaken the hunt for souls. Prepare your mind for action. Quit playing footsie with the world. Death remains for the flippant. Don’t look so perplexed at tribulation as if something strange were happening — but rebut, renounce, defy, fight back, following the risen Christ who split the sepulcher asunder. Here, unceasing warfare; there, unceasing rest. Here, under siege; there, overjoyed. Here, cutting and hacking; there, a crown and homeland.

Taking Names

The true Christ tells us to take up our crosses, cut off limbs, die daily, that we might rise and reign with him in a new world. Those who would dress in gold and walk atop this palace enter through the doorway of many tribulations (Acts 14:22). “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12). If they hated him, they will hate us. Jesus tells us to count the cost — of going and of not going.

We follow no squeamish soldier. Christ, in the truest sense, said, “Father, set down my name. I will charge the fray of devils, the furnace of wrath, for them.” His name was the only that could be set down for sinners: “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

Watch him ride forth — alone. Down, down, down into an animal’s stable. Down, down, down into the muck of his ruined world. There, see him take off his helmet, lay down his sword, and charge forth into that great hoard. Oh, with what deadly force did they assail him! How they beat him beyond human semblance, how they mocked him who gave them tongues, how they chopped mercilessly at the stump of Jesse. Down, down, down into the grave.

But see how he cut and hacked his way through. He slashed the throat of death, crushed the serpent’s skull, and returned with the head of that Goliath who mocked his Israel. He won a gold robe for himself and for others — all who would take up their swords, wear his armor, and follow after him.

The world needs this Christ, not the pretend one of low expectations and groveling suggestions.

Men are ready for a Leader who will unhesitatingly claim the last ounce of his followers’ courage and fidelity. . . . This is no time to be offering a reduced, milk-and-water religion. Far too often the world has been presented with a mild and undemanding half-Christianity. The Gospel has been emasculated long enough. Preach Christ today in the total challenge of His high, imperious claim. Some will be scared, and some offended: but some, and they the most worth winning, will kneel in homage at His feet. (James Stewart, Heralds of God, 26–27)

Enter the Fray

Men and women and children, resolve now, God helping you: “Set down my name, sir!” Knowing the outcome of the conflict, and that we will live to partake of the spoils, how valiant should we be? Hear the song in this day of grace:

Come in, come in;Eternal glory thou shalt win.

Then, live as you would if you could travel back to earth from heaven. Thomas Watson again:

Consider then, seriously, the more violent we are for heaven and the more work we do for God, the greater will be our reward. The hotter our zeal, the brighter our crown. Could we hear the blessed souls departed speaking to us from heaven, sure thus they would say, “Were we to leave heaven a while and to dwell on the earth again, we would do God a thousand times more service than ever we have done. We would pray with more life, act with more zeal; for now we see, the more hath been our labor, the more astonishing is our joy and the more flourishing our crown. (78–79)

Heaven’s palace, any sane man would enter; heaven’s palace surrounded by an army of tribulations, only a madman would attempt — apart from grace. But all who fight and die faithfully behind Christ will outlive the conflict, and be exalted to high towers to shine with immortality in the kingdom of their Father. And such will sing the more joyfully because we knew what sorrow was. Brighter will be the Day, sweeter the rest, higher the joy because we fell and fought and cried. The soldier’s warfare gives way to the soldier’s triumph. Brother and sister, set down your name.

Few things in life are as painful as watching a loved one drift away from Jesus. It may start as a seemingly small departure, nothing to be alarmed about. But one day you realize — and it takes your breath away to realize it — your loved one’s soul has been drifting away. He or she travels further and further away into unbelief and unrepentant sin.

The beginning of James 5:19 happens before your very eyes: “My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth . . .” Here we find the afflictive prepositional phrase — the one that keeps you up at night, sheds your tears, and breaks your heart: “if anyone among you wanders.”

Once he stood beside you as a brother born for the day of adversity. Once she would stay up all night praying with you. Once he even led you to the Lord Jesus. But now what is he? What is she? Shrinking back, lukewarm, rocky soil? Are they going out from us because somehow, someway, they were never truly of us?

The fearful soul that tires and faints,And walks the ways of God no more,Is but esteemed almost a saint,And makes his own destruction sure. (“The Almost Christian”)

Is Isaac Watts right? Are they proving themselves “almost saints”? Are they making their own destruction sure? You feel so helpless as you see them off in the distance. On some days, you may wish to have already been away from the body and at home with the Lord before seeing what your eyes now see. Hope deferred has made your heart sick.

Do you know someone who is wandering away from Jesus? God has a word for you, for us, in the concluding verses of James as he talks to the church of wanderers.

How to Bring Wanderers Back

The foremost thought for everyone who feels the relevance of this topic — you can still hear his voice, see her face, and recall better days — is, How do we bring them back? This is what we want to know — what we need to know. On the face of it, James doesn’t offer much help. Stare with me for clues:

My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back . . . (James 5:19)

Between the wandering and the returning, we have “and.” That’s it. We’re tempted to say, “Brother James, unquestionably you are a master of pith, but please, we need more details! How?”

I now realize that I have underestimated James to question him thus. Perhaps he would answer me, “Brother Greg, did you read my letter? I’ve been attempting this the whole time.” The last two verses are not a clumsy ending to the epistle, but a summary of a main purpose for writing: to bring back sinners from wandering away.

How were some of his recipients wandering? Weren’t so many wandering away from a gospel ethic? James addresses those wandering not foremost through bad thinking, but bad living. Not false doctrine, but false discipleship had led them astray.

Throughout his letter, James introduces us to such characters as Mr. Tossed To-and-Fro, Mr. Quick to Anger, Dr. Loose Tongue, Professor Dead Faith, Lady Soul Adulteress, and Lord Fattened for Slaughter. He points out the City of Useless Religion, the Town of Hearers Only, and the Land of Cozy with the World. He invites us to observe the Church of Faith Absolutely Alone, with its twin elders, Pastor You Sit Here and Pastor You Sit There.

But how exactly does James try to bring wanderers back? I want to commend three steps that attempt to capture his approach. To do so, I’ll draw from his imagery in 5:20. James uses path imagery, writing of an “erring way” or “wandering road” (translated as simply “wandering” in the ESV). A wayward road is in view.

1. Show them their road.

No one is a worse judge of sin than the sinner caught in it. Wanderers can be the last to know they are wandering. James rebukes, admonishes, and instructs to show his readers where they really stand. He shows them their road.

For example, “If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless” (James 1:26). They assume they are good with God, religious; reality disagrees. So we, like him, implore wanderers, “My brother, my sister, do not be deceived!” We too hold up the mirror of God’s word (1:23) to show the sinner the seriousness of his state.

2. Show them the end of the road.

Show them where this road leads. I’ve heard of one pastor who set up a booth at a fair, claiming to know people’s future. When they come, he asks about their faith in Christ and tells them about their future accordingly. James believes in this kind of future-telling.

He shows us the child of our sinful desires growing up to kill us. He holds up dead flowers to show us the end of the rich man perishing in his pursuits. He pictures the defrauder’s heart as fat livestock being prepared for the day of slaughter (James 1:11, 15; 5:5). He shows them the end of the road.

3. Place God upon their road.

Show them their ways in relation to God. An erring path errs because it wanders from him and his standards. A hot temper is not just a hot temper; it is that which does not work God’s righteousness (James 1:19–20). Partiality isn’t just something we don’t hold, but we don’t hold it “as [we] hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory” (James 2:1).

Place God on the road behind them. They need to be “brought back.” Show them that their wanderings are wanderings away from God and his beloved Son. Remind them of their first love.

Place God beside them. They have not outrun him. God stands beside these Jonahs, even now, more willing to welcome them home than they are to return. Even to spiritual adulterers, he offers more grace (James 4:4–6).

Place God before them. Warn them that if they insist on deliberately sinning after receiving a knowledge of the truth — if they plan to trample “underfoot the Son of God” (Hebrews 10:29) — God stands at the door as Judge, and they shall die without mercy. But don’t forget to plead with them to take that other path with a crown of life.

Why Bring Wanderers Back

So, I’ve suggested that we show wanderers the road, the end of the road, and place God upon their road. Yet notice that in these final verses, James does not focus on how to bring back a soul, but rather why. In this very practical book, he ends not with principles but perspective. He wants to inspire them — not just instruct them — to be a community, a church that pursues fellow wanderers.

1. Consider what it means to bring back a wanderer.

Look again at the verses:

My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. (James 5:19–20)

Here James wants the rescuer to know that as he successfully brought a sinner back from his sinful road, he saved the wandering soul from eternal death and that, in the wanderer’s returning, his sins are again forgiven before God.

“You, not angels, are given the eternal work of persuading, pleading, pastoring souls back to the narrow way.”

Have you considered what it is to save a soul? James wants you to consider the glory of it. “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul,” Jesus taught. “Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matthew 10:28). The unbreakable noose was nearly tied around their neck, the divine sword was being sharpened, they were chasing a death unutterably dreadful — and then you talked with them. God used your voice, your concern, your heartbreak, your pleadings, to call them down from the ledge.

Philip Doddridge summarizes it beautifully: “It is as if [James] had said, do but reflect what that is, and you will find your success is its own reward” (The Evil and Danger of Neglecting the Souls of Men, 27). Do you see it? It is such a great thing, an eternal thing, an essential thing, a happy thing to save a soul from death that to do so is its own compensation.

2. Consider whom God uses to bring them back.

James attributes agency to us in a way that may make us slightly uncomfortable. We cover sins and save souls?

Now, he has already attributed saving agency to several things in the letter: the gospel (1:21), faith (2:14), God himself (4:12), and perhaps prayer (5:15). James writes to bring home the utter astonishment, the sweeping grandeur, the vital agency in a Christian’s spiritual care for his fallen brethren. Though we are not the decisive agent, do not edit the verse in your mind and miss the force of James’s actual words: “Let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death.”

Me? Save a soul from death? I cannot seem to save a houseplant from death. We get to be instruments in the eternal destiny of God’s chosen people? What is our life? We are but mists that appear for a time and then vanish — but God uses mists to save souls!

You, not angels, are given the eternal work of pursuing, persuading, pleading souls back to the narrow way. Your tears are to fall. Your prayers are to rise. Your quivering voice is to speak. Your Bible is to be open. Under the sovereignty of God, undying souls exist that will not be in heaven apart from your bringing them back; they will not persevere without your perseverance to save them from death.

3. Consider your joy to bring them back.

Doesn’t James’s logic suggest anything but self-denial for its own sake? He assumes, in presenting to the rescuer the knowledge of his rescue, that the wanderer’s return satisfies the rescuer’s happiness.

Do you want to make a profit in this life? Do you want to make it count? Seek to be used by God to rescue souls. Don’t go down to such and such a town and trade; go down to such and such a town following your prodigal brother there and convince him to return home! Our Father uses famines, but more often he uses brothers and sisters.

To fearful souls that tire and faint,And walk the ways of God no more,God often sends another saint,To make the soul’s salvation sure.

“Beloved, you would not need any other argument, did you know how blessed the work is in itself,” Charles Spurgeon once said.

Would you grow in grace? Then, help others. Would you shake off your own despondency? Then, help others. This work quickens the pulse, it clears the vision, it steals the soul to holy courage; it confirms a thousand blessings on your own souls, to help others on the road to Heaven. Shut up your heart’s floods, and they will become stagnant, noisome, putrid, foul; let them flow, and they shall be fresh and sweet, and shall well up continually. Live for others, and you will live a hundred lives in one. (Pictures from Pilgrim’s Progress, 41)

Few things in life are as painful as watching a loved one drift away from Christ. Yet few things in life give as much pleasure as watching him or her return to Christ in repentance and faith — and to know you played a part. Don’t grow weary in doing such matchless eternal good; keep pursuing.

Early in my marriage (and midway through an argument), my wife complained to me one day that I talked to her like I would a guy from seminary. By my beard, she was right. I knew exactly what she meant.

Amidst my band of brothers, sword fights were not uncommon. Generals trained us for battle; we could not be afraid to spar. Fights happened, as they must when important things are at stake, but we asked forgiveness if necessary and left the stronger for it. Our spiritual program, a place for serious joy, prepared us to affect untold people and places and eternities. We needed one another for sharper service. To be the men our Lord was calling for, we needed heat and friction and resistance from brothers who were for each other in Christ.

My marriage, however, I confused with this combat training. When we disagreed, I instinctively strategized, mobilizing forces of argumentation and logic here, mounting a brigade of illustration there; war must decide which idea prevailed. When I listened, it was the calculating variety — cold and non-interrupting, as Chesterton once said, “he listens to the enemy’s arguments as a spy would listen to the enemy’s arrangements” (What’s Wrong with the World, 26). A good practice for debate; a poor way to live with my wife in an understanding way.

Though as theologically sharp as many seminary men, she was my wife, not my fencing partner. Though she could hold her own, she did not find the swordplay, even when discussing Scripture, nearly as uplifting as I did. Note to self: I should not duel my wife over doctrine. Good to know.

Of Mice and Men

A man ought not debate his wife as he would a brother. But let’s add another truism: a man need not disagree with brothers in the same way he would with his wife. It is one problem to talk to wives like men; it is another to talk to men like wives. It is one loss to forget how to live with our wives in an understanding way, another to forget how to live with men according to the nature of men. Are we losing the ability to talk to men as men?

The writer of Ecclesiastes writes that for everything (speech included) there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to build up, plant, laugh, heal, embrace, and make peace. But this is not all he says. At other times, you must sit among your brothers to pluck up, to kill, to die, to break down, to refrain from embracing, to weep, to lose, to attack his darling sins or cherished unbelief (Ecclesiastes 3:1–8).

God’s rams still need to butt heads; his lions still need to roar. We can’t always play two-hand touch. Nathans need to tell Davids, “You are the man!” Pauls need to oppose Peters to their face or stand aghast at the Galatians. We need Nathaniels in whom exists no guile or flattery. We need men whose “letters are weighty and strong” (2 Corinthians 10:10), servants not tickled by man-pleasing (Galatians 1:10). We need Judes able to contend for the faith because they’ve learned how to contend with their brothers in seminary classrooms and with men who hold them accountable.

Where are the Luthers, the Spurgeons, the Ryles that roused sleeping generations with masculine boldness? We have few and need more. When masculine directness, Christlike candor, and warlike speech fade from the mouths of good men, the world and church suffer rot.

The Man Christ Jesus

Imagine our Savior’s deliberation the moment Peter, his second-in-command, stands between him and the cross. Heaven’s cheers had not yet died down at Peter’s confession, “You are the Christ,” before Peter tries to confront this Christ (Mark 8:29, 32). Jesus plainly taught that the Son of Man must suffer and be rejected, yet Peter, trusting his assessments too much, “took him aside and began to rebuke him” (Mark 8:32).

Do not miss the phrase preceding Christ’s masculine reply:

But turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.” (Mark 8:33)

Jesus commends Peter, the rock, in one breath (Matthew 16:15–20), and administers the strong rebuke in the next. Notice where he looked before he struck: at his other sheep. He considered them as a good father considers the other children who witness a sibling’s defiance. Peter needed to hear this; the disciples needed to hear this. To withhold it would fail not only Peter, but them. We imagine Peter’s eyes following his Savior’s to the other disciples in that intense moment, only to reengage with the blow: “Get behind me, Satan!”

Modern-day disciples trained in a generation of safe spaces recoil: Jesus, don’t you see he only cares about your welfare? He was only considering group morale. Did you really have to call him Satan and belittle him in front of the others? Jesus, don’t you think that was a little harsh? He did well just a minute ago; I wonder if you missed an opportunity to encourage him.

But Jesus, perfectly concerned with God’s glory and the eternal good of his sheep, struck the rock before the others. He had manly words and a manly tone for his chief man and friend. Seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter to teach them all. A man bold only toward his enemies is not yet as Christlike as he needs to be.

And take note: nobody ran away crying. No one took to blows. No one challenged another to a duel. The truth was spoken, the rebuke taken, and men moved on, better for it. How can we establish fellowship like this? A couple of starting points.

1. Set terms in peacetime.

Unlearning the coddling of modern speech, especially within male circles, need not be done overnight. We do not put gloves on, sneak up behind a brother, and sucker punch him in the name of courage. In my experience, rules of engagement should be established beforehand. When some men and I formed a group years ago, we drew from an old meeting covenant and agreed in the affirmative:

Are you willing to charitably rebuke, chasten, and instruct each other?
Are you willing to take rebukes, chastening, and instruction from others?

We make it clear at the beginning that we must have priorities higher than comfort. Here we strive for a culture concerned with grace-giving but also sin-slaying so that we might be more God-pleasing. We resolve — God helping us — not to let personal ego or weaker-brother sensitivities stop our ears from hearing (or giving) a discomforting word, a naked question, or a plain rebuke.

Bold speech had been a weakness of some in our brotherhood; now it’s a strength. Caring they remain, but without the coddling that shelters sin and harbors — for the sake of “unity” — God-belittling theology and practice.

2. Consider the goodness of correction.

Yes, confrontation is unpleasant. To some it feels like a slow suffocation. To others, a frozen chill climbing the spine. To others, the kindling of a flame to devour culprits offering this strange fire. To still others, the words replay in the mind as hammer blows, driving them down and down into the floor.

After the initial tremor, a man’s pride usually demands satisfaction. Criticism, disagreement, correction all seem to drag our reputation into the contest. I’ve felt what Richard Baxter describes:

They think it will follow in the eyes of others that weak arguing is the sign of a weak man. . . . If we mix not commendations with our reproofs, and if the applause be not predominant, so as to drown all force of the reproof or confutation, they take it as almost an insufferable injury. (The Reformed Pastor, 129–30)

“A man bold only toward his enemies is not yet as Christlike as he needs to be.”

In the heat of the moment, I’ve found that cool reflection on the goodness of correction helps me summon the cavalry of humility. In my disagreement, am I loving the truth, the church, my brother, my God, or myself? If the former, the jousters may need to take another pass. If the latter, I should be suspicious of my urge to swing back, slow to speak, and willing to disengage for a time to drown my pride in Christ’s blood.

Love Peace, Go to War

Beloved, although I was very eager to write to you about our common salvation, I found it necessary to write appealing to you to contend for the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints. (Jude 3)

Jude did not live to fight, but he would fight. He wished to discuss the thing that brought him the most joy: their common salvation in Christ. He wanted to explore the treasury of Christ’s excellencies, the bliss of the new birth, the grandeur of God’s glory, and the wonder of the cross. He wanted to drape these glories over all of life (and he does some), but alas . . .

There is a time to discuss our common salvation and revel in Christ. And there is a time when we must draw a sword and defend the Savior and salvation in which we revel. In our times, the spirit of the age scolds that the masculine tone is toxic, aggressive, and unnecessary. Boys should not be boys — much less, someday, men.

Brethren, we are chiefs of our tribes, leaders of families. If we cannot spar over the greatest, most urgent verities of this world and the next, where can we? If we are to hear “you’re wrong” or undergo cross-examination or hear rebuke, should it not be over these truths and with brothers who love us? “A rebuke goes deeper into a man of understanding than a hundred blows into a fool” (Proverbs 17:10). Let hard words sink in, men of God. Speak them with patience; deliver them for each other’s good; remember to speak to men as men. Learn not only to endure them but to cherish them.

The sky was the kind of blue if blue could burn, blue on fire, lit by the sun blazing high above the hills in winter on a morning when there are no clouds. A sky like that makes it easier for a soldier to die. It’s the last thing he sees, and there is comfort in knowing some things will live forever. (The Well-Spoken Thesaurus, 16)

Have you ever seen a sky like this? A sky ablaze and serene, reaching down to dying men with the warmth of a mother’s arms or the caress of a wife’s hand? This sky, burning blue, eases the soldier’s passing. He is dying — he knows the wound. Among thoughts of loves lost, future days unlived, last words never spoken, he gazes up, and there, a painting more beautiful than he ever remembers. What a Sistine Chapel to canvas this theater of war — unsmeared, unshot. Beauty amidst death. Loveliness amidst terror. A flower sprouts in a bloody field. As his eyes begin to stare beyond this world, he almost smiles.

A sky like that makes it easier for a soldier to die.

This world has many such skies, skies (figuratively speaking) that make it easier for us to face death. They seem to say, in their own way, Everything is going to be alright. But earth’s burning skies do not always (or even often) tell the truth. As much as they may quiet the conscience at the end of a life we thought well-lived, we may still, in fact, be unprepared to die. Then, such skies deceive like a decorated hallway on our way to a place we never meant to go. Men, women, and children have slipped into death with a degree of consolation, only to awake in confusion. They died under the comfort of a burning blue sky that gave way to a living nightmare.

If our soldier could have heard the speech of the sky that day, he would have heard a fiery sermon about the glory of God (Psalm 19:1). A sermon rebuking his thankless and dishonoring life toward his Creator (Romans 1:20–21). A sermon pleading with him to turn from sin to a faithful God who remembers his own with mercy (Jeremiah 31:34–37). The sky burned blue-faced, yes, with earnest appeals: “Confess your sins; look to the perfect sacrifice — Jesus Christ — who died under a skyless night that sinners might wake to eternal Day. Trust in him completely, before you lose your soul forever!”

Earth’s Best Skies

Reader, do you know what sky would ease your death, if death came sooner rather than later? Is it trustworthy? Let us turn our gaze to some of the most vivid skies earth contains, skies that, apart from Christ, will cheat us in the end — the true, the good, the beautiful. These firmaments put man in touch with something beyond himself. Yet we can die beneath these heavenlies without being welcomed into heaven.

The True

Many men have died under the serene skies of a thoughtful life. They have wondered and thus wandered beyond the maze of carnal stupidity. They will not die as a cow eating grass. They are men, not beasts. They agree that the unexamined life is not worth living. They believe in true and false; they believe in logic and mathematics and science and philosophy, and even that a higher power must reign above.

Such men ask hard questions and cannot be satisfied with shallow answers. They read and listen and converse and challenge and will follow where the evidence leads. They think and test their thoughts. What they believe, they know, and what they know can correspond very well with God’s reality. They answer some questions correctly. They do not bow to Jesus as the Truth — they too have exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and for this they shall perish — but they stand more approximate to truth than their unthinking, unserious, uninterested, and easily distractable peers. To trap them, Satan must at least use the good cheese.

When they come to die, they recognize that they die in a nest perched on a higher branch. They have read better books, dined on better thoughts, lived more efficiently, productively, rationally, humanely. Worldly wisdom, perhaps, but better than worldly idiocy. They die under a sky of thought, yet never fearing the happy prayer of Jesus:

I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. (Luke 10:21)

The Good

Another brilliant sky is the virtuous one. The great Village of Morality boasts the most captivating atmospheres for sons of Adam to die beneath. Creeds and religions of all sorts coexist under these colors and pat themselves on the back till death.

These feed the conscience memories of goodness, offer their doubts the wine of good works — You weren’t perfect, but you did your best. They despised the pellets and dirty water left in the hamster wheel; they never ran after those lusts. They have learned some version of decency, civility, discipline, which, at points, overlapped with the right, agreed with conscience, acted in accordance with God’s law.

Such a man believes that without morality, he is no better than the dog he pets or the worm he puts on the hook. He may not get it all right, but he cannot live without attempting goodness. Reading C.S. Lewis, he cries amen:

The man without a moral code, like the animal, is free from moral problems. The man who has not learned to count is free from mathematical problems. A man asleep is free from all problems. Within the framework of general human ethics problems will, of course, arise and will sometimes be resolved wrongly. This possibility of error is simply the symptom that we are awake, not asleep, that we are men, not beasts or gods. (Essay Collection and Other Short Pieces, 313)

Such may conserve traditional ideals of right and wrong, may warmly embrace sanity and live in friendship with natural law, may still know the meaning of duty and honor, and thus sicken at the decadence of a culture bartering Christian constraints for pagan perversions.

“Faith in the Son — dwelling in him and under his blood — is the only safe sky for mankind.”

But still, they themselves do not follow Christ. Yes, obviously boys are boys and girls are girls. Yes, of course murdering children is an abomination ladled from the bottom of the pit of hell. Yes, our government should end its war on the natural family. But no, I personally don’t worship Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior of my life.

This is a pretty sky, prettier than the drab and polluted grey of the demonic ideologies of the time, but an unsafe sky to die beneath nonetheless.

The Beautiful

Overlapping with the first two, the beautiful is “an intrinsic quality of things which, when perceived, pleases the mind by displaying a certain kind of fittingness” (Jonathan King, The Beauty of the Lord, 9). As paint in the right place and proportion gives us a lovely painting, and as music in the fitting keys and proper sequence soothes the ear, so a life well-proportioned, bright with varying colors, gives off a sort of beauty, even if unredeemed.

Such lives unveil a father worth imitating, a friendship we want, a great romance we envy. They pursue high ideals; they live, in some sense, for others. This initially pleasing (but Christless) life fills the world’s novels, television series, plays, and movies. It is the beauty of the human experience: The replaying of moments — special and common — that make this life worth living. The beautiful contours of the human story that we relate to, know, and can glimpse as inexplicably precious. Our story — filled with tragedy and triumph, family and failure, music and misery — is still authored in pleasing font, still valuable.

And if we can look back at the four seasons of life and see love, or at the faces surrounding our deathbed and see it returned in their tears, this can soothe the sting of death as it overwhelms us. The burning blue sky is the wife’s hand or the memory of a beloved mother you hope to see again.

This compelling aesthetic is the hope of many. She is a smiling sky, a beautiful expectation. Yet while it imitates the second great commandment (loving your neighbor as yourself), it doesn’t pretend to attempt the first (loving God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength). The loveliness toward man is spoiled by the heart’s unloveliness toward God. The “love” is seen as idolatry in the end, a pleasing mural painted on a rotting house. More unjust is this love than a man who adores his dog and neglects his wife, or the woman who feeds her cat and starves her grandmother. Lightning will soon erupt from this clear sky.

Parting Clouds

Christ, dear reader, Jesus Christ. All loves inevitably fall and die and decay while we still serve the world, the flesh, and the devil. No matter what sky makes it easier for us to die, faith in the Son — dwelling in him and under his blood — is the only safe sky for mankind. “Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever does not obey the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him” (John 3:36).

All truth is found in him — “I am . . . the truth” (John 14:6). All goodness is his, and he is “the righteous one” (Isaiah 53:11). All shafts of beauty beam from his crown to earth — “He is the radiance of the glory of God,” “the king in his beauty” (Hebrews 1:3; Isaiah 33:17). Apart from him, this world’s best truths, highest goodness, and most suggestive splendors spoil, fester, and stink. The corpse, though embalmed, decays, smells, and returns to dust.

But what a sky, burning blue and gold and silver, is Christ to the soul. Gaze up, as Stephen in his death, and prize not the horizon for its colors, but heaven for its Christ. “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God” (Acts 7:56). Look to him — as Truth, Goodness, and Beauty himself — and die looking to him. He is the only sky that makes it not only easier to die, but far better.

Since Christ saved me, I have been fascinated by war. I learn about conflicts I can see to feel the gravity of that cosmic war I can’t. Although few know it, the unseen conflict is no less vicious or valorous, gory or heroic, real or requiring than wars of men, but much more. I try to enter the psychology of the soldier to better know how to conduct myself in spiritual battle.

Paul does the same as he calls Timothy forward: “Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:3–4).

Paul’s words have convicted me of my comfortable, lax, civilian Christianity. Does a civilian-soldier exist? I wondered. Maybe as a minuteman of sorts — one who lives his civilian life but can be ready in a minute for conflict when necessary. “Entangled in civilian pursuits and occasionally experiencing service” — that seems too apt a description.

So, it is helpful for me to witness a man in the Old Testament who illustrates Paul’s disentangled soldier: Uriah. At this point, David has impregnated Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba, and so David calls Uriah home from war to sleep with Bathsheba in hopes of covering over the adultery.

Uriah’s single-mindedness is heroically tragic. Yet we need to drink from his spirit. Observe, then, six marks of this soldier slain for refusing to play civilian.

The Soldier’s Speech

The first mark that distinguished the soldier was his speech.

When Uriah came to him, David asked how Joab was doing and how the people were doing and how the war was going. (2 Samuel 11:7)

One way to discriminate the lieutenant from the layman is by the topics of conversation they draw out of others. We all have conversational centers of gravity, don’t we? Most of us know our Mr. ESPN, Mr. and Mrs. Netflix Series, Ms. News and Politics, Neighbor Gossip, and Mrs. Grumble About Her Kids. No matter how far away the current conversation appears to you, they rarely fail to cross land and sea to bring you to their default subject. Out of hearts, mouths speak.

For the active soldier, his center is war. He may go along with some small talk, but his heart is not to talk small. How could it be? Men are dying, his brothers fighting, the enemy planning, arrows flying — what has he to do with the latest entertainments? David knows he speaks with a man of war and cannot detain him with empty pleasantries or lesser topics. How is the commander, how is the army, how is the war prospering?

Men of God, what is your heart’s topic of conversation? When people speak to you, do they know your center of gravity is Christ crucified, the human soul, Scripture, eternal life, and the world to come?

The Soldier’s Silence

If Uriah is first distinguished by his speech, he is next distinguished by his actions in silence.

Then David said to Uriah, “Go down to your house and wash your feet.” And Uriah went out of the king’s house, and there followed him a present from the king. But Uriah slept at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and did not go down to his house. (2 Samuel 11:8–9)

David requests that Uriah go home and refresh himself, get comfortable, stay a while, eat, rest, and enjoy the lawful pleasures of home. To help him relax, he sends servants with “a present” — perhaps some food, some wine, and a few chocolate-covered strawberries.

Remember, “No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4). Yet here is the one who enlisted him (or who ranks above the one who enlisted him) telling him to take off his armor and take it easy. Does his troubled conscience quarrel with his king or seek to impress him with how committed he is? No. He quietly goes outside the palace doors and, when he thinks himself outside of eyesight, lies down among the servants. His actions speak volumes of his valor where his words speak none.

Men of God, does your left hand know what your right hand does with its sword? Do you sound a trumpet before or after you serve Christ? Are you the soldier or the civilian when you think no one else is watching?

The Soldier of Speculation

The third mark of our soldier is the chatter that surrounds him.

When they told David, “Uriah did not go down to his house,” David said to Uriah, “Have you not come from a journey? Why did you not go down to your house?” (2 Samuel 11:10)

True soldiers of the cross must be the subject of civilian rumors and speculations. Despite their best efforts to carry out their master’s business with little attention for themselves, their single-mindedness and self-denial eventually expose them as warring men. “Good works are conspicuous, and even those that are not cannot remain hidden” (1 Timothy 5:25). And when they do, the bees must buzz about that strange fellow who does or doesn’t do such and such, one so different from themselves.

“Paul lived a life that needed the resurrection of Jesus Christ to be true. Do we?”

Even David, Israel’s great champion (now reduced to Israel’s great citizen) is puzzled by this man so like himself before his fall. If David went out with Joab and Uriah (as he should have) instead of strolling rooftops, helping Satan tempt him to a mighty fall, he might have admired Uriah. Instead, he is left to wonder, Why will this stag avoid the trap? Has he not traveled from far away? David couldn’t resist the journey across the street for Uriah’s wife; he staggers that Uriah should come all this way and not go to her.

Men of God, do others whisper about you or seem confused by your pursuit of Christ (even in the church)? Or are you so entangled that no one notices any difference?

The Soldier’s Self-Denial

Fourth, we find Uriah’s crest: resolved self-denial. Uriah explains to David why he won’t go home:

The ark and Israel and Judah dwell in booths, and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field. Shall I then go to my house, to eat and to drink and to lie with my wife? As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do this thing. (2 Samuel 11:11)

Why does he avoid going home? Why does he deny himself lawful pleasures? Judah and Israel and God himself dwell in tents; his captain and his band of brothers camp in open fields. Should they eat spears and arrows while he eats meat? Should they be drunk on adrenaline while he grows intoxicated in his wife’s love? “As you live, and as your soul lives,” he will not do this thing. Get him drunk to entrap him; he will still prefer your door to his own while duty calls (2 Samuel 11:12–13).

Men of God, have you intentionally laid aside any civilian pursuits because you were sympathetic with your brothers and ambitious for greater usefulness?

The Soldier’s Surety

Fifth, Uriah, the soldier of Israel, knew how to remain faithful under command. In one of the sickest motions of David’s mind, we read,

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it by the hand of Uriah. In the letter he wrote, “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, that he may be struck down, and die.” (2 Samuel 11:14–15)

When the man clings to his resolve, David moves to plan B. In the morning, he writes the assassination letter and sends it by the hand of Uriah. David is so confident in Uriah’s honor, so trusting of his sense of duty, that he sends his own death warrant with him, knowing he will not open it. Here is a dark moment indeed for the one after the Lord’s heart.

Would-be soldiers today can struggle with authority, with chains of command. Baristas take orders; we take suggestions. The modern spirit is very civilian, but the soldier’s aim is to please the one who enlisted him. What C.S. Lewis spoke has come to pass:

When equality is treated not as a medicine or a safety-gadget, but as an ideal, we begin to breed that stunted and envious sort of mind which hates all superiority. . . . The man who cannot conceive a joyful and loyal obedience on the one hand, nor an unembarrassed and noble acceptance of that obedience on the other — the man who has never even wanted to kneel or to bow — is a prosaic barbarian. (Essay Collection & Other Short Stories, 667)

Men of God, do you acknowledge men above you and gladly submit? Could they trust you with your own death warrant? Have you learned to follow, knowing that someday you may be called to lead?

The Soldier’s Scars

Sixth, soldiers bear the marks of active duty on their bodies (or in their graves).

As Joab was besieging the city, he assigned Uriah to the place where he knew there were valiant men. And the men of the city came out and fought with Joab, and some of the servants of David among the people fell. Uriah the Hittite also died. (2 Samuel 11:16–17)

Uriah never made it back to his front door. David “killed him with the sword of the Ammonites” (2 Samuel 12:9). Joab pressed Uriah closer to the walls of the city where archers stood to kill. Strategically un-strategic. To pacify David’s anger at losing other men in the scheme, he explains, “Your servant Uriah the Hittite is dead also” (2 Samuel 11:18–21) — wink. David responds, “Do not let this matter displease you, for the sword devours now one and now another” (2 Samuel 11:25) — wink, wink.

Uriah knows the peril of his mission. Chosen suffering separates soldiers from civilians: “Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:3). Uriah, the good soldier of a treacherous king and now corrupted commander, charges forth against a wall with valiant men below and raining arrows above. He could have been home with his wife, but instead he died on the field with a dagger in his back. Praise God our own commander knows no such ruthlessness or faithlessness.

Men of God, do we hope to offer to the Lord a civilian life that costs us nothing?

The Soldier’s Salvation

Paul goes on to explain to Timothy what makes such a service worth it. First, forgoing civilian pursuits in service for Christ really does “please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4). Second, Paul writes, “Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David.” Paul sees before faithful soldiers a “salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory” (2 Timothy 2:8–10). The active soldier for Christ is always the gainer, never the loser.

Uriah died fighting under God’s banner for God’s people; Paul suffers under God’s banner for the sake of Christ’s people. He chooses to suffer as a combatant (and exhorts Timothy to the same) because God’s mission shall not fail. He does not count his life dear to himself because Jesus Christ, the offspring of David, instead of putting his soldiers to death as they fight his wars, has decided the war by dying and rising from the grave to save them. He does not steal his bride by another’s blood; he purchases her with his own.

So, men of God, do we see the glorious end of the soldier’s service? Paul lived a life that needed the resurrection of Jesus Christ to be true. Do we?

Fathering four children under five is a pleasant way to learn to die. The lesson was compulsory. With each additional child grasping at the heel of the other, the space for “myself” went from overcrowded to overboard. As a general watches city by city fall, I have watched family needs (so many needs) steal over the walls and ransack what I used to know as free time, recreation, and sleep.

Fathers lay down their lives for their children. Anthony Esolen says they throw themselves away in hope.

The father throws himself away in hope, looking forward to the time when he will be no more on earth than a name or a rumor of a name but his children will be alive, and people will say of him — if they remember him at all — that he was a good man but his children are better. He hands on his old tools to his sons, tools shiny with the wear of his hands. (No Apologies, 105)

Fathering is a good investment, to be sure, but still an investment; a beautiful and fulfilling death, but still a death. Time, energy, resources withdraw from other relationships, other enterprises, even gospel enterprises — “the married man is anxious about worldly things, how to please his wife, and his interests are divided” (1 Corinthians 7:33–34). Children create more fractures. The good father throws himself away to the very ones who sometimes threaten to interfere with his higher unions, with both his wife and his God. He, as Esolen notes, is a creature that requires explanation.

Seed in the Ground

Fatherhood (and motherhood) can teach us much about the great paradox of following Christ: life through death. The whispered secret of life — the life we desperately hope for — comes only on the other side of the dying we squirm to avoid. To lie still as Isaac upon the altar, to die daily, to hate your life in this world for Christ’s sake leads to life with him beyond.

Fathering has dragged me deeper into the paradox. As I lay myself in the coffin for the other’s good (and ultimately for my own), as I close the lid on one dream after another in this world, I expect the call to rise and come forth in another. To explain this pattern of death begetting life, Jesus holds up a seed. Have we learned its lesson?

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. (John 12:24–25)

“He remains alone” (John 12:24). The preserved life, in the end, is the lonely life. Clutch and guard and caress your free time, your heart, your small loves and ambitions — fondle them, stroke them, and they will betray you in the end. Keep your life to yourself, and you will only have yourself. You will remain alone.

“Fathering is a good investment, to be sure, but still an investment; a beautiful and fulfilling death, but still a death.”

Do we not pity the woman holding her cat in a quiet room just a little too tightly? The man in his sixties without anything better to talk of than his football days? Cold becomes the flame of life lived for nothing higher than self. My kingdom come, my will be done is the shortest prayer to unhappiness. Beyond the television noise in his living room (so falsely named), the undead seed remains alone. He lives with his drawbridge raised to Christ, cannot give himself away, has no higher hope; his heart beats too fragile.

“But if it dies,” Jesus promises, “it bears much fruit.” The Christian life, the Christian father’s life, is a multiplied life. Something beautiful grows from repeated deaths in Christ — life eternal and a harvest of glory that could not have been otherwise.

Bones in the Ground

Allow me to offer another illustration. Of all Joseph’s amazing feats, here is the one that Hebrews highlights: “By faith Joseph, at the end of his life, made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones” (Hebrews 11:22). This provides us another image of Christian fatherhood, a sacred act of Christian faith.

As we lay down our lives in love for Jesus, as we press past the body aches to wrestle with sons against dragons, as we sit to talk through our daughter’s day while noiseless burdens pound our thoughts, we sow in hope. We deposit our lives into Christ, who in turn directs us to pour out our lives into theirs, not as codependents, but as fathers. We find our true heartbeat doing what our flesh resists: denying ourselves, dying to carnal pleasures, sending our bones ahead into a land we will never enter.

We hope when our names are remembered — if they are remembered at all — those names inspire faith in all who whisper rumors about them. We pray that our bones, as Joseph’s bones, become an emblem of God’s promises and faithfulness. Though dead, he would speak. His bones whispered words of reminder that God would plant his people where he had promised. They were bound to be buried in a better country. John Calvin puts it beautifully in his commentary:

In ordering his bones to be exported, he had no regard to himself, as though his grave in the land of Canaan would be sweeter or better than in Egypt; but his only object was to sharpen the desire of his own nation, that they might more earnestly aspire after redemption; he wished also to strengthen their faith, so that they might confidently hope that they would be at length delivered.

Man of God, isn’t that what you want? Even after death, to sharpen the desire of the next generation to aspire more earnestly after Christ? If tomorrow should be your last day, what legacy will your bones leave? Have you been throwing your life away in hope — storing your life away in faith — for the good of your soul, your family, your church, your neighbors? If the Lord gives you five, ten, thirty more years of life, how do you wish to be remembered?

Upside-Down Meaning of Life

The hope of bounty following burial is not due to karma but Christ. This is his pattern. Because the Father and Son reign above, verses like Proverbs 11:24–25 are true:

One gives freely, yet grows all the richer;     another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want.Whoever brings blessing will be enriched,     and one who waters will himself be watered.

The one gives freely and grows richer; the other clings to his coins and suffers poverty. Because of God, the one who blesses others will be blessed; the one watering — even the harvest he may never see — will be watered himself. The tree yields its fruit, and so its leaf does not wither. Die now, and you will reap thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold in this life and the life to come. Our self-denial is self-deposit; God will not be outgiven.

So, keep your life in this world — hold to it, hope in it, hunger for it — and to dust you shall return. Alone the seed remains. Alone the seed dies. And alone it weeps and gnashes its teeth.

But die. Die to this world. Die to preferring now above later, yourself above family, this life above the next. Die and keep dying this beautiful death, trusting Jesus — the great Seed who went before — and you, little seed, shall go the way of all flesh, but in due time, you will break through the ground to life and blossom in Day unending. Send your bones ahead of you, and you shall wake in the promised land. Throw yourself away on earth, and heaven gets returned to you.

On the other side of dying in Christ is life in Christ, a life overflowing with fruit, fellowship, fullness, and family, in the presence of the Father forever.

God kept Pharaoh upright and pummeled him until he and his army drowned as a stone, why? Why do we need to read of judgments against Korah or tour the tombstones of those who fell in the wilderness? Why include stories in Scripture such as two she-bears mauling forty-two boys for mocking a bald prophet? Or in new-covenant times, why were Ananias and Saphira carried away dead? Why does an angel of the Lord strike down Herod and feed his body to worms? Why are people in the early church falling ill, or even dying, for misusing the Lord’s Supper? Is it not to teach us the fear of God?

The fear of the Lord has fallen upon rather apologetic times, it seems. “God is certainly not to be feared,” some say. “What is meant by fear is really something more like respect. You shouldn’t fear him as a lion uncaged in your living room, but only go to him as confidant, best friend, non-judgmental ear bent to listen.” Attempting to hold tensions in balance, the fearsomeness of God seems to get the short end. The Lamb, too often, undoes the Lion.

With this, God is robbed of worship, and we of rejoicing. In the new covenant, it is a blessing to fear the living God. The difference between the old covenant and the new is not that God should no longer be feared, but that now every covenant member actually does fear him. Holy fear serves our perseverance, imparts wisdom to our souls, secures our eternal happiness; no one will make it to heaven without this fear.

So, let us behold four beautiful glimpses from Jeremiah 32:38–41, a wonderful introduction to the strange and spectacular fear of God for Christians today.

New Hearts to Fear

I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever. (Jeremiah 32:39)

What is wrong with the world today? People do not love God, and people do not fear God, because people do not have new hearts alive to his glory and sensible of his power. Neighbor after neighbor lives in open rebellion against his Majesty and does not know how to blush. They will not cease their suicidal sinning, seek his will, or cry to him for mercy.

“Fear serves our perseverance, serves our everlasting souls, serves our eternal happiness.”

This is the story of the Old Testament. We witness generation after generation experience the misery of a people with God’s law in their scrolls but without God’s fear in their souls. Story after story details the cursed inability to tremble at God’s word. Though instructed repeatedly, “The Lord of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread” (Isaiah 8:13), most would do no such thing. Over and over came the same heartache and distress because they did not fear God. They were too comfortable, too smug — too lighthearted to be good-hearted.

But notice the promise of the new covenant: “I will give them one heart and one way.” And why? “That they may fear me forever” (Jeremiah 32:39). They are given new hearts endowed with the fear of God. And this fear will not have an expiration date. God makes a people new that they may fear him forever.

Our Deepest, Longest Good

. . . that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. (Jeremiah 32:39)

Now, we may think this fear of God to be hard news. Perhaps our minds involuntarily recall relationships where fear was a tool for evil: the abusive father, playground bully, controlling boss. They used fear to manipulate, to coerce, to sting into submission. How can it be good news to fear God forever?

Notice the promise: “. . . that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them.” Oh, this is different. This fear serves his people’s good, as when Gandalf grew tall and menacing to convince Bilbo to give up the ring that would destroy him otherwise. He deepens his voice to persuade us from peril. The heart of this King is for you, for your good, thus he gives you this fear of him. Doesn’t this purpose make all the difference?

The good father, his children know, is not to be trifled with. The heavenly Father lashes every son whom he loves (Hebrews 12:6), not because he loves to scourge, but because he loves to save. He disciplines us for our good, that we might share in his holiness and live (Hebrews 12:9–10). Feel enough of his heart to trust him: this God does not spare discipline from us, but neither did he spare his Son for us.

And notice that this new-covenant blessing of fear spills over the edges to one’s family: “for their own good and the good of their children after them.” The fear God gives a man blesses those closest to him.

Why You Wake Up Christian

I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. (Jeremiah 32:40)

Again, Israel received the law of God as written by the very finger of God and delivered by angels, and yet they could not keep it. They saw their God redeem with wonders the world had never witnessed, and yet these same people died in the wilderness because of distrust. God was undeservedly good to them, and yet without explanation or provocation, they kept turning from him. The Lord asks, “What wrong did your fathers find in me that they went far from me, and went after worthlessness, and became worthless?” (Jeremiah 2:5). Our Old Testament shows us where we would be without the fear of God.

Yet gaze at the blessing: “I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them.” He swears not to turn away from doing good to us; he makes an everlasting covenant with us. But what about our turning from him, as Israel did so often? Here it is: I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me.

Why did you wake up a Christian this morning? Because God put the fear of himself in you. You fear turning away from him, going back to the city of destruction, being a child of his anger, displeasing your heavenly Father, departing from the church and proving to never have truly been of his people. You believe God when he talks about hell. You believe God when he talks about heaven. And you fear him, not by shivering under an expectation of wrath, as though you had no basis for confidence before him (his love perfected in us casts out this kind of faithless fear, 1 John 4:18). Yet while we do not now quiver about the judgment to come, we still believe that if we should turn from him or shrink back, such would be our portion. We are not yet home.

So what is the fear of God in this text? A fear of turning from him that keeps us near him. New-covenant fear is adhesive to keep us walking happily with Jesus, our life and our joy.

The Heart of Him We Fear

I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul. (Jeremiah 32:41)

So, the fear of God is not a cringing fear, a hiding under the bed or cowering in the fetal position from a severe judge. Rather, the fear of God is a healthy understanding that if you turn away from God, it will be to the everlasting ruin of your soul, a ruin from his own hand.

But saint, the kind of God we fear makes all the difference in our fearing him. “That they may not turn from me,” God says — but who is the me? We read that he means good for us, but who could imagine what comes next? “I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.” Be undone; be staggered. Here is the God we fear forever: he who delights to do good to you with all his heart and all his soul.

He is the God whose rod and staff strike and destroy his enemies. This shepherd terrorizes lions and bears and wolves and thieves. Yet because of his love for you in laying down his life for you, this same power now comforts you and keeps you near.

He is still dangerous — he wouldn’t ease us through the valley of death if he weren’t — but he is not dangerous toward you as he once was. Christian, you are his sheep now, under the shepherd’s love. He says, “I will make them dwell in safety” (Jeremiah 32:37). But this does not domesticate him. As long as you stay true to him, as long as you continue to fear him, his rod and his staff will keep you along the path, calm you, and protect you from all that threatens you. His love turns his fearful qualities away from you — as long as you abide in his love.

Safe from the Storm

Years ago, on a bitter and perilous winter night, I watched snowflakes fall gently outside my window. They mesmerized me, yet I knew that for some outside that night, they would prove deadly. I wrote,

The window frames tools of torture,As they caress the ground,By love’s fire I’m found;Is this salvation?

This captures something of the paradox. It’s not that danger does not exist any longer — God is perilous to those outside. Rather, it means that he has overcome us with his love, seated us inside at his fires of grace, and there, we no longer expect to perish. “All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out” (John 6:37). But we do fear facing him if we were to abandon the shelter of Christ.

So, we fear him, but this is the God we fear. The God who wants us in the house with him. The God whose very heart longs to do us good. The God who, to secure our blessing, gives us an indispensable gift: the fear of him.

Fortresses have been lost through sheer lack of imagination. The general cannot see with his enemy’s eyes, anticipate his enemy’s strategies, and so he invites his enemy’s feet into the citadel. Do we let the evil one into our lives, heart, and mind through want of simple thought? Fighting the enemy at the front gate is hard enough; let’s not leave back pathways and rear entrances unmanned, unsealed, unwatched.

How do we discover the breach? Play devil’s advocate. Ask the question, If I were Satan and desired to destroy my soul, how would I do it? Really consider it, first, because it will help you better know yourself. Second, because Satan is considering you and means to exploit every possible means to your damnation.

In other words, watch film of yourself. Championship teams study their opponents to learn their weaknesses and discover vulnerabilities. They watch and replay and rewatch the opponent. How do they think? What are their tendencies? What do they try to cover up? If they would defeat us, they must do so with their weak hand. And the best teams watch film not just of their opponents, but of themselves. When the enemy watches us, what does he see? Where are we weak, susceptible? What does he mean to exploit? How is he planning to strike?

Stairways to the Soul

First, consider which members Satan longs to commandeer. Over what well-worn paths does he bring his seductions into your life?

Does he mean to burrow into your soul through your eyes? Does he lure you with illicit images? Does he encourage binging upon show after show, game after game, app after app? Most may not be evil, but when amassed, they form a swamp of worldliness where spiritual affections die. Notice, the fruit traveled through Eve’s eyes before it came into Eve’s mouth: “when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes . . . she took of its fruit and ate” (Genesis 3:6).

Or perhaps your temptations are auditory, approaching through the side door of your ears. You listen to song after song, podcast after podcast — some of such a nature that, should they accidentally play during church, you would sooner break your phone than let them continue. What lenient watchmen stand post at some of our earlobes. Be reminded, Christian, that the first temptation came through the ear before the eye: “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman . . .” (Genesis 3:1).

And once he has the ears and the eyes, Satan desires your hands to handle and distribute evil: “She took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her” (Genesis 3:6). Do your hands flash and thunder through ill temper? Do they grab the mouse at night and click, click, click (in privacy, you think)? “If your hand causes you to sin,” Jesus warns, “cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire” (Mark 9:43).

“To best defend yourself, know yourself.”

But Satan needs you within reach of sin’s fruit, so he loves careless feet. You may know by experience how much damage you invite when those feet wander to the bar, or to that friend’s house, or to those parties. The wise father advises his son, “Keep your way far from her, and do not go near the door of her house” (Proverbs 5:8). Traveling even near her door can be a death sentence:

Though she flatters and smiles and feigns to adore you,The ambush is set by the hunter before you.She stands at her door, beckoning to the trap;Keep your feet from her house and your head from her lap,Your lust from her beauty, your heart from her care,Your frame from her bed, and her knife from your hair.

Let not the shoes on your feet betray the prayer on your lips: “Lead me not into temptation.” Feet that stray toward sin soon flee from God: “The man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden” (Genesis 3:8).

And we must not forget about the tongue, that vessel of fire sailing from the ports of hell (James 3:6). Are you a harsh father? Do you lash your spouse upon the stocks, cut down your dearest companion with sharp criticism? Are you a gossiping or nagging wife? What chocolate can Satan place upon your tongue for you to indulge that sweet slander, flattery, grumble, or half-truth? “The woman,” Adam was quick to accuse, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate” (Genesis 3:12).

Times of Treachery

Beyond this, we should consider, When is it best to strike? How about late at night when you should be warding off temptations with unconsciousness? When do you feel most stressed and anxious and unwatchful? As tests approach? When you fall behind at work? When home life is tense or finances tighten?

I’ve noticed that Satan often waits to attack me until the day after a spiritual triumph. The dove falls upon us, we hear afresh, “You are my beloved son,” and then Satan visits us in the wilderness. He is a fool to ambush you on the day of victory. No, he withdraws and waits for you to relax before springing reinforcements. The dark spirit returns with fiends eviler than itself. Perhaps when the house is asleep; perhaps at midday when your vigilance flags; perhaps on the weekday when monotony dulls sin’s seriousness, and Sunday’s refreshment wears thin.

Perhaps it’s on the weekend, when the world is abuzz and immorality is sold at discount. After a long week, does the thought arrive, I’ve worked hard; I deserve a little pleasure, don’t I? Satan knows the best times to attack you. Do you? It was when Jesus “ate nothing” and “was hungry” that Satan brought his full assault upon him (Luke 4:2–3).

People as Puppets

Can you detect a pattern of the people Satan loves to use as his carrier pigeons to deliver temptation against you? “Woe to the one by whom the temptation comes!” (Matthew 18:7). When your guard is lowest, whom might Satan want you to spend time with? Which Delilah will cut your hair? What bad company threatens your good morals? Does a foolish wife counsel you to curse God and die? Do friends heap misery upon your deepest sorrows? A gossiping roommate, a flirtatious coworker, an unfaithful father, a worldly classmate — upon which relationships does Satan seek to write his signature?

Next, consider not only whom he loves for you to be around, but also whom he doesn’t. Whom does he mean to keep you from? Gondor needed Rohan, David needed mighty men, brothers need brothers, sisters need sisters. How can Satan ruin this blessed need in your life?

Oh, the delicious sin of envy may prove most effective here. He loves disturbing the hive with this sin — bidding us to withdraw from those more godly, more gifted, more likable than us. What suspicion or spiritual pride can persuade that you don’t actually need the church after all? Or perhaps he corners you more subtly through overworking or pointless recreation. “Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire; he breaks out against all sound judgment” (Proverbs 18:1).

What crabgrass is Satan sowing in the fields of your friendships? Selfishness? Apathy? An unwillingness to go below the surface? Which relationships do you need to strengthen? Which people do you need more time around? What hobbies or acquaintances need to take the backseat? Who inspires you to pursue Christ with all your heart?

Goods as Gods

Finally, as just the beginning to your contemplations, consider what weights Satan would use to bind your soul to this world. Many things are lawful, but not all are helpful. They may even be helpful for others, but not for us. The former alcoholic refuses a beer at the game. The man who struggles with lust deletes his Instagram. The single woman limits her reading of romance novels.

The hand is a good thing, designed to glorify the Lord. But if it causes you to sin, cut it off, brother (Matthew 5:30). The eye is for beholding beautiful sights, but if your eye causes you to sin, sister, tear it out (Matthew 5:29). It is better, says Jesus, to hobble through this short life maimed, or endure here partially blind, than to hold on to all these good things, misuse them, and go to hell.

But we can’t stop at just weights. Consider, at last, an interest of the devil’s heaviest surveillance: God’s best gifts to us. Perhaps he accuses, as he did with Job, that we fear God only because of all of these. Is he right?

Which relationships, if threatened, might cause us to recant our Lord? Which loves — mother, wife, child — transgress their proper boundary and sit rival to the throne? Which Isaac would we not lay upon the altar should God require it? Over which blessing could we not, through darkest grief, utter, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21)? Satan means to twist God’s choicest blessings around our souls to choke the seed.

Christian, you have an enemy who crouches at your door. His desire is to have you, and you must rule over him. To best defend yourself, know yourself. Through what channels does he mean to entangle my soul? At what times, with what people, and by twisting what gifts does he mean to ruin me? Take time and effort to simply consider: If I were Satan, how would I destroy me?